just our hands (clasped so tight)
by Anastasia-G
Summary: Three lost souls finding a home in each other. [Drabbles of Bonnie, Klaus and Damon and their lives together in New Orleans. OT3. Bamon, Klonnie and Klamon]
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N** : These drabbles emerged out of many conversations between me and Nisha and comprise what we call The Klamonnie Project: a combination of both our OTPs. I've never written Bamon before so I hope I've done them justice here!_

* * *

"I think it'd be _hot_ -, "

Bonnie mumbles that last word into her drink, face aflame, avoiding both their eyes.

After two tumultuous years in New Orleans, she knows them both well enough to guess their expressions. Damon would have _that_ look on his face, the one he always gets when he's caught her doing or wanting something good little witches aren't supposed to (those moments have been far more frequent than she'd like), and Klaus, _god_ , he would never _ever_ let her live this down.

As if on cue, the latter asks, "Beg your pardon, love?"

"You heard me," she mutters, fiddling with the hem of her dress.

"Actually, I don't think we did," Damon adds. "So, start at the beginning. You're in the bath, mind starts to drift, _hand_ starts to drift, and you picture me going to town on blondie here- ,"

" _Damon_ ," Bonnie grits out.

"What?"

She sighs, takes a sip of her drink, and braves a glance at the two of them.

"Clearly Bon Bon's been keeping some dirty secrets," Damon winks, and Bonnie thinks about how once upon a time she would've set him on fire for that same gesture.

Klaus looks up from swirling his scotch around his glass, "Ignore this boor sweetheart. He can't help that he's an adolescent trapped in a man's body."

"So what you're saying is, you've noticed my body."

Bonnie pinches the bridge of her nose. Klaus sits down beside her and gently draws her hand to his lips. She gives him a grateful look.

"Now, tell me, how many ways did you picture Damon kneeling in front of me? Be as honest as you- "

She yanks her hand away and glares at the both of them. "You're _both_ adolescents. And I'm going to bed."

"Awww, Bonbon, don't be like that-,"

Klaus chuckles into his drink.

Bonnie stalks off, determined to sleep in _her_ room tonight.

* * *

Really, she should've seen it coming.

This is Klaus after all. He held your confessions close to his chest until it was time to play and then, he swept the rug out from under your feet.

In her defense, it _was_ hard to keep her wits about her when she was straddling his lap, two of his fingers buried inside her working her almost casually towards orgasm.

Bonnie was so caught up - in the maddening pace of his fingers, his low hums of approval whenever she bucked her hips - she almost didn't hear Damon walk in the door.

He freezes, the paper bag of groceries slipping from his hand to scatter all across the floor. But his eyes stay glued to her, burning across the exposed skin of her shoulders, down to where Klaus had pushed the dress off her breasts.

She darts the hybrid an accusatory look. _You planned this._

Klaus only gives a lazy shrug, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he purrs, "Damon. Right on time...,"

Before she can ask his meaning, he moves his fingers again, faster this time, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clit. Bonnie's forehead furrows from the effort to stay in control, but it's a losing battle and Klaus knows this.

She licks her lips, panting, and meets Damon's eyes. What she sees in them makes her wet all over again. Hesitantly, she beckons him forward. She has no idea what should happen next, only that she wants him closer, _closer_ , as her hips roll frantically into Klaus' hand.

Damon approaches her dazedly, almost as if she might disappear, and kneels behind to thread his fingers through her hair. Bonnie tilts her neck, and his lips find her pulse.

"Bon...," he breathes, shock and tenderness mingled in his voice. That voice, the same one that rasped out of him the first time she let him touch her, the same one that stumbled over the words "beautiful" when she'd let her hair fall loose over his chest.

And then Klaus curls his finger and swipes his thumb just so, and she flies over the edge, cradled in Damon's arms.

She comes down from her high in time to see Klaus licking his fingers clean so his lips glisten with her.

His hooded eyes issue Damon a challenge.

The younger vampire grabs Klaus' collar almost viciously, like a brawler in a bar. Then, his mouth presses hard into the Original's, tongue devouring the taste of her.

Bonnie shifts, making room for all three of them on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N** : This one was has a special place in my heart. Do let me know your thoughts in the reviews! And I definitely plan on adding to this collection with more drabbles about Klamonnie and their adventures in New Orleans :)_

* * *

Nights like this, Bonnie wishes she could fly, like the witches in children's storybooks. Fly and let the cool night air cut her skin and clear her head.

From her window she can see that Damon is still in the parlor, hours after Stefan left, drinking his way through Klaus' extravagant collection of alcohol like there's no tomorrow.

She'd locked herself in her room so she wouldn't hear the brothers arguing, rehashing old wounds and flaying new ones.

She glanced at the clock.

4 am.

She couldn't wait anymore.

Padding downstairs, she finds Damon sprawled on a leather chair, a decanter dangling from one hand and catching the firelight like so many small knives.

"Hey..," she says quietly, sitting down next to him.

" _Don't."_

The brusque response startles her. "Don't what?"

"The Hallmark card you're gonna read to me about being a good brother and 'forgiveness'." He makes air quotes around the last word, and some liquor splashes onto the carpet.

" _Actually_ , I was gonna say I think Stefan was being harsh-,"

"Insufferable, I believe is the word you're looking for love." Klaus strolls in, frowning at the carpet stain. "Thousands of dollars of crystal at your disposal and still my rug suffers. Should I commission you a sippy-cup?"

Damon sighs in exasperation and stares up at the ceiling "Great. And now it's Klaus Mikaelson comedy hour."

Klaus rolls his eyes, "And your plan is what exactly hmm? Out-brood your brooding sibling? Good luck with that one mate."

"Right. As if I could out-do Stefan at anything," Damon mutters darkly, "Enlighten me Klaus, how do you not punch Elijah's lights out everyday?"

"By reminding myself how much the furniture costs and what a bloody pain it is to renovate," he drawls.

A moment passes during which Bonnie wonders absently if _she_ should pour herself a drink.

"Stefan is afraid," Klaus says abruptly.

Damon blinks.

The Original continues, "Always has been. Afraid of who he is, _what_ he is. You, Damon, might be a drunkard and a layabout who's never learned to keep his muddy boots off the rug - ,"

"Thanks dude."

"- _but_ you've never been afraid. And for that, Stefan will always envy you."

Damon blinks almost in confusion, as if each word is new.

Klaus strides across the floor and swiftly, firmly takes the bottle from Damon's hand.

"You've had enough. Now, let Bonnie see you to bed."

They are settling in under the covers, Bonnie brushing the wayward strands of dark hair off Damon's forehead, when Klaus appears, placing a glass of some tonic on the end table for Damon's guaranteed hangover.

Bonnie raises her head to murmur a thank you but Damon beats her to it.

"Get under the covers dude. Someone's gotta keep us warm in this mausoleum you call a house."

"Until _you_ cover the electric bill, Damon, I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself," Klaus returns smoothly. But Bonnie hears him strip his shirt off and soon she's pressed against a warm hybrid chest. She curls up tighter with a small of hum of approval.

"No fair, she always gets warmed up first," Damon mumbles.

" _Life_ is unfair."

"Guys I'm trying to sleep."

She feels Damon hook a leg over her and grab Klaus' shin.

"Ahh, nothing like a little hybrid foot warmer."

Klaus grunts a little but doesn't entirely protest. Bonnie pulls the cover over their shoulders.

Nights like this, she wonders if birds feel this way when they fly: grateful for the unseen balance holding their bones afloat.


End file.
